


Conversations With Those Left Behind

by kinky_kneazle



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:02:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinky_kneazle/pseuds/kinky_kneazle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those who are watching and waiting speak their thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations With Those Left Behind

I never thought that the first thing you would learn living with your grandmother would be that there are two things you don't mess with: coffee and cheese. I'm only glad she never tried to combine the two into one big latte cheesy mess for you.

It's funny, because if your mother and I had been alive you would have learned not to mess with chocolate and your mother's collection of Stubby Boardman dolls. But I can't complain about the way she raised you - she managed to raise your mother after all, and that couldn't have been easy.

We watch you, you see. That's what the dead do. They watch the living while waiting until the living that they're waiting for to pass on so that they can take the next step. It's a strange existence, but I hope that somewhere you know that you mother and I, and your grandfather have all watched your first steps, your first words. I was there for every part of your childhood, son. I even watched over you on your first full moon, when Andromeda had to put you in a cage, and your mother couldn't stand it any longer and walked away to rage alone. I stayed and I watched that first change and I knew you didn't know what was going on, but I hope you felt my love all the same.

Of course, now you're grown, and with Wolfsbane and your own innate common sense, which I'm sure you didn't get from either your mother or me, you manage the change better than I ever did.

Perhaps it's best that you weren't raised by me. Your mother tells me off for talking like that, but I look at how confident you are ... I remember seeing you one day with that Slytherin boy. He was picking on one of the smaller kids, and you stepped in. Then he called you werewolf, said some horrible things about me. I would have stepped back, but you gathered your courage, I don't know from where, and said you were proud of me. That I had died fighting for what I believed in, and who cares about a disease caught as a child. Then, bold as day, you said that you were a werewolf as well, and what did it really matter! I almost died, and thought you'd be expelled for sure, but Minerva backed you. I don't think I would have raised you with that courage, son. I'm glad that you found it within you.

I can't tell you how proud I am of you, but I hope that you know. I hope that as you have sons of your own with this disease, that you raise them with that courage and in the meantime I'll wait to see you again.

* * *

 

Do you know how weird it is to turn around and see you there, and know that you can't see me? How weird it is to know that I can still read your thoughts, but you don't even know I'm here.

Sometimes I wish I'd elected to stay a ghost. You could have seen me, we could have kept the shop going together, just like old times, and you wouldn't have started to lose weight, your hair wouldn't have gone grey; I would have been the ghost and you could have kept your life, which seemed to drain out of you after I died.

I had no way of telling you that I'm still here, watching. So I was left watching you fade away, no matter how much Mum and Ron and the others tried to get you to come back to life.

I can't tell you how glad I was when Angelina rocked up on the doorstep looking for work, and you started to breathe again. I always knew that girl was a good sort. And then you had kids! Who knew responsibility would look so good on you, even if your kids are the two biggest ratbags to hit Hogwarts since we went through - well, I'd be disappointed if they weren't.

Still, it's strange to still be able to look at you and see myself, and know that you only see me now when you look at an old photo. Come soon, George, but not too soon. I'll wait as long as I need to.

* * *

 

I never liked you, I think you know that. I still don't, except for those eyes. Your mother's eyes. Of course, here she is watching you as well. Lily and that prat of a husband always hovering, cooing over all your children and talking with Remus and Sirius about how happy they are that you survived. It all makes me sick, except that I'm stuck here waiting. And I have no family to watch, no interest in Deatheaters past, or students past for that matter. But I still watch Lily, and so I watch you.

And you surprised me Harry. You fought to have me exonerated, a fight that would not have been so easy if I'd still been alive, I think. But you succeeded, and then you named your son after me. It was not what I expected. Perhaps death has mellowed me so that I can now see that you had your good points. Or perhaps I can now relax and admit something that I saw before.

Of course, I wish you and your bratty friends would have a little less conversation. Honestly, could you talk about anything more inane? It's all nappies and diapers and which house they'll be in. I hold out hope that young Albus Severus will make Slytherin. He has some sneaky qualities, despite his breeding, and an ambition to be better than his brother that will guide him well. When Dumbledore drops in, we make bets. He thinks one of your children will do for Hufflepuff, but we both agree that if they take after you they won't have the brains for Ravenclaw. That's not exactly how Dumbledore put it.

I don't know why I haven't moved on yet, though Dumbledore thinks it's you. I hope not, otherwise it could be some hundred years that I'm sitting waiting for you to join us here. If you ever think of us here, I hope you think that I'm watching. I think you'd be creeped out by the idea, and that makes the knowledge that I have to keep waiting easier to bear.

Keep surprising me, Potter. It makes my life here more interesting.


End file.
